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Tuesday, March 30, 2004

Lately an epidemic has gripped my neighborhood. I would like to think that a scourge of this magnitude would be isolated to Hughes Street. My experience tells me different.

It seems as if not a day goes by that I don’t walk out of my apartment or drive down my street that there isn’t some jackass stopped in the middle of the road. If it was the same jackass, no problem, I would just slash his/her tires, but it always seems to be a different jackass. And, that’s felonious tire slashing.

These selfish jerks just leave their vehicles parked in the middle of the road with the promise that they are going to return very shortly thus allowing the rest of us to quietly get on with our less important lives. Don’t believe them. They lie. All of them. Liars.

I’m sure that they don’t mean to be King Assholes or anything. They have very important tasks to get done, right? After all, no matter what menial errand they are running, no matter what walk of life they seem to have drug themselves out from under, they always do one thing in common…

They turn on their Hazard Lights.

Hazard lights are for people who are stranded on the side of the freeway because they didn’t have the wherewithal to check their gas gauge. Hazard lights are for when you’re blocking the road after your crappy little American car throws a rod through your flimsy ass hood. Hazard lights are for when you blow a tire going 75 because some Jerkwad on i10 decided that he didn’t want that empty beer bottle stinking up his backseat anymore.

Hazard lights are not for visiting relatives, buying coffee, or going to the bank.

Hazard lights are not babysitters.

It’s as if these people are trying to pretend that their unwillingness to find a parking space is somehow the result of a tragic act of God.

“Oh my God, oh my God, the last thing I remember, I was looking for a parking spot, and now here I am in the middle of the street, but I just need to run in here for a couple of seconds, I’ll be right back, there’s a baby in the car, I couldn’t find a sitter, there’s never any parking on this street, I don’t have enough money for the meter because I spent all my quarters on laundry for the baby…who’s in the car, so I really need this cappuccino to deal with all the stress that I’m under with the parking situation, the laundry, the lack of qualified child care facilities, and the incessant screaming coming from my baby…who’s in the car!”

Do they really think that they’re fooling anyone? We know there’s no emergency. Delivering a pallet of Krispy Kremes to your fat sister-in-law is NOT an emergency.

And yet, they do it every time. Hoping that we’ll watch them run into the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf and think to ourselves, “It must be an emergency…her Hazard Lights are on. YOU GO GIRL! GET THAT ICED LATTE BEFORE THEY RUN OUT OF VANILLA POWDER AND IT’S TOO LATE!! We’ll watch your kid.”

Here’s the kicker. I used to somehow respect it. I actually found myself thinking, “At least they turned on their Hazard Lights.”

It must be conditioned behavior. I let it slide a little. And it’s my firm belief that other people do the same. As if Hazard Lights have some kind of deep spiritual power to make us forgive.

I’m inventing Hazard Lights for people. Wear them around your waist. Just turn them on and go.

Conspicuous Delinquency; the oldest con in the book. Just look like you’re supposed to be there doing what you’re doing.

“Honey, look, I know I slept with your best friend, but in all fairness to me…my Hazard Lights were on. Didn’t you see them? It was an emergency!”

“You’re Honor, yes I robbed the bank, but I turned on the flashing lights. They knew I was there. And I was only in there for a second. I really needed the money.”

It’s all B.S. The next time you see someone in the middle of the road with their flashers on, check to see if they’re bleeding, and if they’re not, throw something at them. Selfish jerks.

POSTSCRIPT: You may have noticed that I didn’t point out the fact that when these jerks are blocking the road they are also potentially getting in the way of emergency vehicles. That’s because my local Fire Dept. consistently double parks and puts official looking orange cones around their fire truck when they go shopping for chicken at El Pollo Loco.

Fun Fact: This morning on GMA, Diane Sawyer said that the “universe changed” after Janet Jackson’s performance at the Superbowl. Well, I did some research and it turns out that the constant spinning and expanding of the universe actually has no bearing on Janet’s right tit. Now you know.

Monday, March 29, 2004

I attended a screening on Saturday for the short that I was in about 6 months ago. I have to say, look out Tinsel Town!

Here’s a synopsis (in 450 characters or less, including spaces):

As Planned

Jamie (Hilary Kerrigan) had her life all worked out, the wedding, the house, the savings accounts for the future kids, and the most perfect fiancé (TAM). But when her future husband dumps her before the wedding, her dreams begin to fade. That is, until she meets a handsome stranger with car trouble (Cory Assink) and learns that sometimes life doesn’t turn out -- as planned, in this short drama by award winning director Adam Hodge.

I could be the next big thing, you know. If only the jaded powers that be would just overlook my bad acting and the extra thirty pounds. Shallow jerks.

But, really, Halle Berry was right when, after winning the Oscar, she talked about “opening doors” in Hollywood. If she can be considered a serious actor, anybody can.

You might think that I’m being a little harsh on ol’ Halle. If you think that then you obviously haven’t seen Gothica. When ESL Penelope Cruz and crack head Robert Downey Jr. are acting circles around you, perhaps it’s time to reconsider those classes.

But maybe her ex’s sex addiction is finally taking its toll? Really though, I still think the best thing she’s ever done was The Flintstones. She was hot in that. Nothing more.

Other News:

This weekend I had a yard sale, watched three movies, went to a screening, went to a party, played basketball, bought some new cartooning supplies (with the money earned from the yard sale), turned in my first batch of synopses, and generally hung around the house sweating profusely.

You would think that I would have more to write about.

I don’t. (but be grateful that I didn’t go into more detail about the sweating)

Fun Fact: Here is one way to stop perspiration from being an embarrassing problem (from Lifetimetv.com): Cut out caffeine and other stimulants. The caffeine in colas, tea and coffee over stimulates the nervous system and boosts sweating.

What I want to know is, do the 10 cans of Diet Pepsi that I drink in a day count? Is nicotine in the family of “other stimulants?” And why are my teeth so yellow and soft?

Wednesday, March 24, 2004

I am writing movie synopses for “a big online DVD rental company” who shall not be named because I don’t want them to find this, causing me to lose my new found job.

Don’t worry, this freelance writing gig is only temporary, so I should be back to my usual unemployed self in no time. At least I hope. I mean, I’m not writing the great American novel here or anything.

I know, I know. At least it’s some money, right?

Wrong! I was unemployed for a reason, dangit!

The synopses are 450 characters long (or less, incl. spaces). Mine are exceptionally good. Look for them if you are a member of “a big online DVD rental company.” Some of my favorites include Chinese Ghost Story 3, Dil To Pagal Hai, and the anime hit Wicked City (the one where the demon woman has fangs on her genitals).

I am getting better at this type of writing though. It’s fascinating. Here is my morning in example mode:

TAM’s Breakfast

TAM (Tam) thought that he was above the mundane commonality of everyday life. That is, until he woke up one day – hungry. At first, he didn’t know what to make, but with some encouraging words from his girlfriend (Tanya) he had turkey bacon and egg substitute frying on the stove in this quirky comedy directed by Hunger (Naked Lunch, My Dinner with Andre).

TAM’s Walk

In this, the sequel to TAM’s Breakfast, TAM (Tam) is back and this time he is prowling the streets. His once quiet life is transformed as he ventures out of the safety of his apartment and witnesses other people living their lives around him. TAM is forced to come to grips with the fact that he is not the center of the universe in this poignant drama directed by Habitual Behavior (Nose Picking, Alias) and costarring a bunch of other people.

TAM’s Workout

A prequel to TAM’s Breakfast, this film closes out the TAM trilogy. TAM (Tam) is woken one morning by the sound of his girlfriend’s (Tanya) alarm clock. It’s a struggle even to get out of bed, but that’s just the beginning as the two fight for the right to use cross-trainers that may be the death of them both. TV’s are on closed captions in this action-packed drama from director, Shame of Self Image (Paris Hilton, My Eighth Grade Year).

Tuesday, March 23, 2004

I’ve been a little neglectful of the ol’ Blog these last couple of days, sorry. But, I’m trying to improve the cartoon!

I’m probably putting way too much effort into the TAM cartoon, but I like to…so there! You should see the improvements in about a week and a half (I have to get through the crappy ones that I’ve finished first).

P.S. The improvements that I speak of only pertain to the look of the cartoon, not the content. That will continue to be crappy.

Friday, March 19, 2004

A public service announcement for all of my Mexican readers. You know who you are.

It seems that a popular Mexican “candy” bar is being recalled due to toxic amounts of lead.

It’s called “Chaca Chaca,” here is a picture:

Looks like the Chaca Chaca Train is hauling another load of “Crap Candy” up “Crap Candy Mountain.”

I’m sure this recall is no real big loss to the candy community. I can’t imagine that children will be opening their lunchboxes in Mexico today and saying “¡Qué? ¡Ninguna pulpa de la manzana y el polvo del chili? ¡Cómo obtendré jamás yo mi dulce en?!”

That is, of course, assuming that Mexican children have lunchboxes. Or lunches.

What?! I’m not being insensitive. It’s a third world country, you know. They’re poor down there. And if the government keeps allowing candy makers to poison their youth with lead, there will be no escape from their bleak status. Lead poisoning can cause learning disabilities and behavioral disorders, don’t you know.

Chaca Chaca, contrary to what the name leads you to believe, is not made is made from anything even resembling chocolate. The name of the candy bar comes from the sound that a train makes. The logo came from the fact that the Choco Choco sound comes from a train. And the circular logic in regards to the candy naming/logo picking debacle is to distract you from the fact that it is made out of apple pulp and chili powder!

I’m more of a “kiwi fruit and oregano” man myself.

Something tells me that if the ingredients weren’t enough to keep people from eating this, then a little lead poisoning won’t hurt sales much either. Perhaps it’s the lead that causes the children to consume such a nasty product? They just can’t learn that it sucks each and every time that they eat it? I can understand that. I mean, I have the same problem every time I think that I want to eat at Jack in the Box.

The company that makes this “candy” also makes “Fruit Salted Plum Suckers.”

Yummy.

I never did understand why certain kids at my school walked around all day sucking on Lemon Salt. Candy is supposed to be sweet, you backwards weirdos!

Multiculturalism ROCKS!

Read a review of this (and other) “candy” from people who have actually tried it.Bad-Candy.com.

Fun Fact: Mexico City is sinking at a rate of 6 to 8 inches a year because it's built on top of an underground reservoir. Wells are drawing out more and more water for the city's growing population of more than 15 million people? And yet, I will not make any jokes about too many people living in one apartment?

Wednesday, March 17, 2004

Since St. Patty’s day is not about a dude drowning Irish snakes or homogenizing Ireland by converting Druids to Christianity, but is rather a tribute to the color green, I have composed a little still-life photograph for the occasion.

This picture may look like I just ran around the apartment and indiscriminately picked out green things to take a picture of, but let me assure you…that’s exactly what I did.

I left my shoes out of it because, honestly, no one needs to see those ugly things two days in a row.

Here it is:

The Callously Celtic Cornucopia…a Monochromatic Fantasia in Green

I was going to call it:

Ode to the Lonely Nights of an Artistic, Romantic, Nicotine Addicted, Drunken, Italian Phone Sex Operator with a Frog Fetish, A Penchant for Absurdist Theatre, and a Sunburn

But I thought that title was a little long.

Photographer’s Note: None of the “girly” things in the picture are Mine. Unless you think Parmesan Cheese is “girly.” Do you? ‘Cause I can get rid of it.

Fun Fact: The Leprechaun is an Irish fairy. He looks like a small, old man (about 2 feet tall), often dressed like a shoemaker, with a cocked hat and a leather apron. Incidentally, the same could be said about Oscar Wilde and Colin Farrell.

Monday, March 15, 2004

My face has been cut off to protect my identity. That, and to make my neck look long and luxurious.

The name “love beads” for a children’s candy is creepy, sure, but what’s creepier is that it was given to me by “Johnny.” He had a whole bunch of them in his car one day. He told me why, but I can’t remember.

Refresh my memory, Johnny; why were you driving around LA giving “love beads” to other dudes?

I felt special but then he gave one to Tanya too. He’s so indiscriminate.

I’ve protected her chin’s identity.

But thank you, Johnny. Thank you for feeling confident enough to give a brother some “love beads.”

Fun Fact: All that’s left of the “love beads” is a thin elastic string, some dried slobber, and traces of FD&C Yellow #5 and #6.

Tanya and I went to Bally Total Fitness on Saturday and I still haven’t recovered. For those of you who don’t know, we joined a gym recently. And for those of you unfamiliar with Bally policy, whenever you sign up with one of their “pay-out-your-rear-for-three-years” plan you get a session with a personal trainer, “for free.” The design of this policy is to get you to pay for two months of personal training sessions. They figure that once you get the personal touch (figuratively of course) you’ll be hooked, and then you will pay for those as well as your gym membership.

Having a personal trainer would be great; the only problem is that two months costs about $13,000,000. (The nice thing about this price is that it makes the gym membership itself seem really cheap.)

So we went to the gym and met with our respective “trainers” and off we went. This is where I made my first and fatal mistake.

I hate going to these “membership perks” things, I know that they’re just going to try and sell me more crap. So I tried to be up-front with Esed. (abbreviated to protect his identity). I told him about three times at the beginning of the session that I was unemployed, hoping that he would get the picture and realize that I wasn’t interested in spending $13,000,000.

I think he got the picture.

These trainers don’t like wasting their time with people who aren’t going to buy their services. I realized that before I went in and yet I still opened my big fat mouth. He decides to start me off with some stretching (after asking me if I had any health problems that might cause me to drop dead as soon as I pick up a dumbbell). Simple enough. No real pain there.

But then, he decided to get me working on my shoulders.

I was in pretty good shape about seven months ago, but I haven’t been to the gym for a while. And the shoulder muscles just aren’t something that you work every day. I don’t know about you but I don’t spend a lot of time lifting things over my head over and over again. So, he makes me do 75 reps. on one machine, 60 on another, and then about 40 on another. All working my shoulder muscles. We did some curls too and some squats (just so my legs wouldn’t be let out the next morning).

At one point in the workout he said to me ”Hey man, don’t be embarrassed that you’re not lifting very much weight…”

Thanks Esed. You ass. I wasn’t embarrassed until you said something and I noticed that the whole gym was staring at me!

Two days later and I still can’t lift my arms over my head. I can’t straighten them either. I have to walk around looking like I’m doing the “I’m YOKED!” pose all day. Now I’m embarrassed.

I really don’t think that I’m yoked.

At the end of the session, after he stretched out my legs and after I almost fell down the steps, he didn’t even bother to try and pitch me the training sessions. But I’m sure that he smirked all the way to his stupid car.

I did go and sit in on Tanya’s pitch, after I overheard her trainer say to my trainer that she thought Tanya was going to buy.

Anyway, as I suspected, Tanya says “no” to the deal and this girl gets a little snippy:

“I teach kickboxing…”

“If money’s an issue, I have special authorization to only charge you [$10,000,000] if that would be easier...”

“It’s time to think about your health, you’re still young…well, you’re still relatively young…”

“I know it seems like a lot of money, but it’s better to spend it now than in an ICU…”

Did she just threaten our lives with that last one?

Did we just almost get mugged this weekend at Bally Total Fitness?

You bet your life we did and if it weren’t for a well placed kick and my new-found “yokedness” we would have never escaped with our credit.

Screw you Bally! There are no winners here. You don’t have our money and I now have the arms of a T-Rex and need Tanya’s help to put on my jacket. Jerks.

Fun Fact: Pillsbury's new Ready to bake Big Delux Classics Peanut Butter Cup cookies are very tasty. But just because you go to the gym doesn't mean that you can eat half the package at once! (sorry, that's more for me than you)

Sunday, March 14, 2004

The churchies were correct. They said that watching the Passion of the Christ would solidify one's own personal beliefs.

It did.

Now I'm positive that children are the work of satan.

FunFact: Which Came First??? According to National Geographic, scientists have settled the old dispute over which came first -- the chicken or the egg. They say that reptiles were laying eggs thousands of years before chickens appeared, and the first chicken came from an egg laid by a bird that was not quite a chicken. That seems to answer the question. The egg came first.
~Source - Knowledge in a Nutshell~

Friday, March 12, 2004

I had an associative time warp experience last night when Tanya and I went to Costco.

I make weird associations all the time, they are strong and they are extremely distracting. Here’s an example, it’s strange, but every time I read Lileks.com I get the uncontrollable urge to drive to Huntington Beach. But not only do I have to drive to Huntington Beach but I have to take highway 1 (the PCH) and that takes about two hours! I make Tanya go with me, even if she doesn’t particularly want to. We go to a Chili’s on Beach Blvd. and then take the freeway home. Why do I do this? I don’t know. Maybe James Lileks has some kind of subliminal advertising on his site? I’m not trying to say that Chili’s serves regrettable food or anything but what other explanation could there be for deliberately choosing to drive two hours just to go about 40 miles and eat a Triple Play and some Baby Back Ribs?! There are Chilis’ closer. I don’t even LOVE Chili’s! Here’s the kicker, once we get there, all I can think about is opening a theatre in New England.

You’re waiting for the punchline aren’t you? There isn’t one. Sad but true. There’s just something about that website that makes me do that. I think there’s a glitch in my programming.

Anyway, driving to Costco last night, it was a little cold, a little foggy, a little like a California Autumn. It’s March, I know that, but everything in my brain said October. It was a nice departure form the heat wave that we recently experienced. I loved it because if it were up to me, it would be September through December all year ‘round.

That’s one nice thing about not having seasons in LA; you can pretend like it’s another season any day of the year (except for maybe a month in the summer).

So driving to Costco in October all I could think about was Christmas. Sure, I enjoy Halloween a lot, but that’s mostly because it’s in the autumn and it’s so close to Christmas (not a big Thanksgiving fan ironically).

The holiday season comes early here on Hughes Ave. As soon as September rolls around, I start celebrating Christmas. I’m a freak for Christmas. For those of you who may not know, I even made a Christmas album this past year (which I started making in September). I love Christmas! I’m not ashamed…maybe a little embarrassed…but not ashamed.

I’m more embarrassed that there are still Christmas lights hanging up in the apartment and I really have no intention of taking them down. In fact, I’m working on a plan to make them permanent.

So, Tanya and I sat outside Costco in the cold and ate “Costco Dogs” and Churros but all I could think of was that I couldn’t wait to get inside and see all of the wonderful Christmas merchandise. Which is strange on a couple of different levels; one, I know that it isn’t Christmas, and two, Costco Dogs are made by Hebrew National and Churros are not my typical Christmas fare.

Yet I was still disappointed when we got inside. There were no huge inflatable lawn snowmen. Gone were the light-up reindeers whose heads shake back and forth as if to warn would-be vandals that there would be no presents for them this year of they continued with their mischief. No ornaments. No crappy expensive figurines. No Christmas compilation albums containing all the same songs just in a different order. No classic Christmas DVD boxed sets. No holiday gift baskets of (ironically named) summer sausage, cheese, and liquor.

Just an isle filled with camping equipment and boogie boards.

Looks like there will be no Christmas this March, kids. Damn.

Fun Fact: The record for laying the most eggs in one day by a single chicken is seven! Incidentally, that same chicken set the record for most tubes of Preparation H used by a single chicken in one day!

Thursday, March 11, 2004

I'm just trying to fight my jealousy and be a good friend here by mentioning that my friend Mike (He's what Mrs. King's partner at the detective agency would be if he fell into my laundry basket) has gotten published!!

Good job Mike.

Sure, it's just a web site publication. Sure, it didn't pay the rent. Sure, it...oh my god!!! That creepy thing is back!!

I figured that I should probably link to it. Especially since the story has me in it! The Anthropomorphic Accomplice to Murder!

I saw my friend this morning again as I stalked the neighborhood. He still had his dogs and the eye patch, but I swear that the patch was on the other eye before! Perhaps he’s just running around trying to solicit sympathy. Or, it could be that I have the memory of a Mafia witness.

I saw many other wonderful things this morning also. I saw a really old lady pushing a rickety little cart…very slowly. Old ladies are constantly pushing carts around the neighborhood. I know that it helps them to walk, but the use of a cart says to me that they’re ashamed of their incapacity. I’ve got news for you, old lady, I don’t think that you’re shopping. I know what the cart is for and I resent the implication that I’m stupid enough to think otherwise! At least put some prop groceries in it or something! And I’m not your “sonny!”

Man…old ladies…sheesh! You can’t live with them…for very long… ‘cause they’re old.

I’ve got to hand it to that little old lady though, if it wasn’t for her I wouldn’t have gotten to cross the street in front of the extremely large truck that was waiting at the intersection. I felt a little bad about taking advantage of that situation; I’m usually a very fair intersection crosser, mostly because I hate pedestrians, so when I walk I try to act like a car. I even make engine noises and pretend like I’m steering. But, in the block that I had to make the hard decision while that leady shuffled across the blacktop, I decided to go for it. Hey, you only live once.

I don’t just see old people on my walks in the morning. Every once in a while I see this girl about my age come rushing out of her apartment building like she’s late. And every time I’ve seen her, she’s always fighting to quickly put on some article of clothing. Now, I’ve been late for things before (not lately because, I mean, what do I have to be late for?) But I’ve been late in the past and I’ve never, ever, rushed into the street half dressed. It just seems a bit rehearsed. It’s something that is a cliché in movies but never really happens in real life. And, frankly, when this girl does it, it seems as if she’s desperately trying to indicate that she has someplace very important to be, so important that she has little time to dress herself properly, but she’s soooo important and she really needs to get there now because if she doesn’t then the whole freaking world would implode in on itself and a super race of cream cheese sandwiches would rule over all of humanity for the rest of eternity!

I’m not sure if that’s exactly what she was going for, but that’s what I got. Listen girl, if you’re so important how come you can’t wake up five minutes earlier?! You’re just as bad as those people who come out of the restroom still buckling their belts! It’s gross for some irrational reason. But gross none the less! Besides, the neighbors don’t want to see your morning routine! No one is interested in the mundane details of your day! Um…

Why are there so many fake people in LA?!

In other news: I’ve finished the song that I was recording yesterday and I predict that “My 9 Volt Battery Baby” will be a huge hit!

Fun Fact: Chickens can travel up to 9 miles per hour. That is until you’re stuck behind them in traffic with somewhere to be, then they only seem to want to go about 6 ½!

Wednesday, March 10, 2004

The "Anthropomorphic Recording Studio" is running full force today and my desk is a mess!

Sorry that I haven't had time to really post anything. If anyone knows how to host music on the net (Johnny) I would love to know so that I could share my new song with you.

It's my first "adolescent punk-pop" song!

I lieu of giving my opinion on anything today, I’ll just give a topic.

Did anybody watch the Judas movie the other night on ABC? If so, what part of it sucked the most? Was it the bad acting, the cheesy American/British dialect that Jesus and Judas used, or was it perhaps the fact that the movie was hardly about Judas at all and seemed to be more about raising people from the dead?

I half expected Jesus to bust out in a rockin’ guitar solo. And why did he go through the whole movie with a “dude, did you cut one!?” expression?

Discuss.

Fun Fact: A chicken will lay bigger and stronger eggs if you change the lighting in such a way as to make them think a day is 28 hours long! But they get real tired of thinking that their watches are broken.

Tuesday, March 09, 2004

I’m not easily horrified but what I saw on TV this morning came pretty close to doing it.

I was watching “Good Morning America” this morning…after I got back from the gym. Man, I like saying that… “after I got back from the gym.” But it’s costing a lot of money, so, the way I see it, I have to mention it about every thirty seconds.

In any case, as I was saying, GMA ran a story on a new “lie detector” called a “brain fingerprint test” today. I am troubled.

March 9 — Now it may be impossible for even the best liars to conceal their crimes.

The latest technology in forensic science uses details known only to investigators and the criminal to prove a suspect's guilt or innocence.

Traditional lie detectors rely on reading emotional reactions such as sweating or heart rate as a suspect is asked questions. The problem is that well-practiced liars can control these reactions before the polygraph has a chance to detect them.

During the test, the suspect wears a headband equipped with sensors to measure activity in response to recognition of a word or image relating to the crime in question. When the brain recognizes a word or picture, it releases an involuntary wave called a P 300 mermer, explains Farwell. That's used to determine whether suspects were ever at the scene of the crime.

The article goes on to explain that one suspect has already confessed after failing the test and yet another was exonerated after passing it.

Here’s what frightens me – for one, the article goes on to talk about how some in the forensic community say that it may not be all that reliable. This is something that wasn’t mentioned on the TV program.

But even more troubling than that is how they throw around terms like guilt and innocence so totally and recklessly.

The article makes mention of “liars” who can beat the “old” test and therefore escape punishment. But let me tell you, “lie detector” tests are a common thing in the justice system. And it’s still seen as an ultimate test of guilt by a lot of people. However, it’s never seen as an ultimate test of innocence. After all, “liars” can beat the system, right? They do it every day, right? Probably.

But, as we all know, with anything, this has to be a two way street. It only makes sense. If people can “beat the system” so easily then there must be some fatal flaw in the sureness of the test itself. This means that there has to be people who are convicted and sent away, in part because of failing the test - who are innocent. This is something that you never hear about. It’s just not something that we care to hear about. We want our criminals to be convicted and we don’t want to believe that the system that we rely on so much for justice can possibly persecute innocent people. It undermines our sense of security.

By now, we all know that there are innocent people on death row and in prisons. Mathematically, there just has to be. The system knows it too. Every year there are a couple of people who, because of new forensic evidence, are released after years of maintaining their innocence.

This brings me back to my friend from the article; the one who was exonerated. His name is Terry Harrington by the way. Maybe he never took the traditional “lie detector” test, but I’d be willing to bet that he did, he was a murder suspect. Yet, he’s been in jail since 1978. Is he truly innocent? Only he really knows.

My point is that new “tests” come out every couple of years or so and all of them claim to prove the guilt or innocence of criminal suspects by scientifically measuring physiological responses. But, when you’re dealing with the human brain, I’m not sure that science could possibly have the key to truth. I mean, my brain has lived in this apartment for three years now and it still can’t tell me where the friggin’ light switch is in the bathroom when it’s dark in there.

And I went to the gym this morning.

Fun Fact: If feeling fat and sweaty were a career, I would be a successful man.

Monday, March 08, 2004

I would get all in a huff about it if I really cared all that much but the truth is that I really only watch it because Tanya does.

Okay, that’s a lie.

Still, was it so important that I miss Law and Order C.I. to witness such an obvious exercise in how to fill a one hour time slot with ten minutes of material? As a “writer,” it’s a little insulting and yet at the same time, an intriguing lesson on milking a paycheck for every penny.

Most shows on television do this nowadays. The reality shows are gross offenders. But, Alias, come on, it should be beneath you, right? I mean, you’re scripted!!

Here’s a recap. I apologize for not really knowing everybody’s names.

Sydney confronts Vaughn’s British wife and tells her that there is nothing going on between them anymore (although she’s lying) and then there is some kind of meeting at the CIA about a new plasma screen T.V. or bomb or something and then Vaughn and Sydney go to Vancouver to steal some info. on said bomb, meanwhile, the main bad guy, who’s now good maybe, tries to hook up with some counselor/cop chick that he knows and kinda’ works with at a restaurant somewhere in eastern Europe but acts like an ass at diner causing them to have to play out the rest of their part of the show in a coat-check room, but back in Canada, Vaughn and Sydney get beat to the punch by unknown assailants and escape with only part of the bomb plans and possibly a nasty virus as they are shot at, witness a nasty car crash, and lose the people that they’re chasing, so now they have to go back to LA and talk with the weirdo computer geek guy who hasn’t gotten any sleep so now his diction is even worse than it usually is and he’s almost impossible to understand but he figures some stuff out and now Sydney and Vaughn have to go to a boat and find the bomb as they get shot at and run around.

And then it happens all over again. However, this time we learn a bunch of stuff that we already figured out the first time they showed it.

We also learned the answer to the big question of whether or not the “good-bad” guy is really Sydney’s father. And the answer is… “maybe, I don’t know.”

That’s just good writing there.

Really though, Alias, if you don’t step it up a little, you’re going to be replaced by a prime-time reality show like “Average Genitals: Ontario” or something.

Here are some notes for the writers of Alias:

• The ol’ “bullet-proof vest” reveal is a little overdone.
• A garage in Vancouver isn’t an “exotic location.”
• If you make the story clear enough the first time, you won’t have to keep explaining it to us.

If you don’t want to be replaced by a reality show, Alias, heed my notes.

Gotta’ go, Ambush Makeover is on.

Fun Fact: My downstairs neighbors had a yard sale this weekend and now there are clothes hangars in my trees which might make me mad if the squirrels hadn't worked out one hell of a trapeze act!

Saturday, March 06, 2004

Now, I have to make a “guy confession” here, I read Cosmo. Not because I want to, necessarily, but Tanya buys it…so I read it…5 minutes at a time.

Now, every time Tanya buys this magazine, I ask her why she does it. She always says, “I don’t know…I need something to read.” I’m sure that Tanya isn’t alone here. The magazine still sells well after all these years so women everywhere must be buying it, and there must be some reason for that, right?

I don’t think so.

Looking at the cover of this month’s issue (and choking on some nerve gas that Giorgio Armani calls SeNSI, the lower case “e” is for extra saran) I can’t find a single reason that women would continue to want to own this thick piece of tripe. With “cover stories” like ”Men on Sex: Guys share 75 awesome bedroom tricks…””Guy-Speak, Translated: Finally, we explain his maddening silences…”and “Little Signs He’s The One” how could you even take this rag seriously? Do you look at that and say, ”75 awesome bedroom tricks?! They already gave us 75 last month! That’s like…150 altogether! That’s a lot of awesome bedroom tricks!?”

I’ll let you in on a secret here, Cosmo readers. There aren’t that many awesome bedroom tricks. Oh sure, there may be that many tricks, but they couldn’t possibly all be awesome.

I know, I know. You’re all saying that you don’t take the magazine seriously. Liars. Why buy it then? Look, I was into novelty magazines too, but I stopped buying MAD and Cracked a long time ago. I don’t have to buy those magazines anymore…I’ve got Cosmo. Now.

Okay, I’ve just destroyed my entire argument. You win ladies, are you happy now? You beat up the femmie guy who reads Cosmopolitan. Yeah you.

But here is something that I can’t forgive Cosmo for. The “Guy Confessions” section is a total crock! You can’t tell me that those were actually written by guys?! Guys don’t use expressions like “sack session” when talking about…whoopee. Especially the guys that do what these “guys” claim to do. Now I don’t expect Cosmo to use terms like…forgive me…”deep ballin” or anything, but I do expect them to be little more plausible. The editors at Cosmo might have pulled that one over on me if they hadn’t used the exact same expression…on the cover! And I know that wasn’t written by a dude.

There is another magazine that I know of (besides Seventeen) that uses highly edited unbelievable stories and pawns them off as “reader mail.” It’s called Penthouse.

(Sorry guys, those stories are fake. Your twin roommates don’t want to get it on with you.)

Does this mean that “Guy Confessions” is some kind of female fantasy? Do women really want the guy that bangs his ex-girlfriend in the bathroom while his current girlfriend is ordering the antipasto? My instinct says no.

But what do I know? I read Cosmo for crying out loud.

Okay, I’ve asked some hard questions today and made some tough points, even if I couldn’t protect my masculinity. I really am very masculine. You’re just going to have to trust me on this one.

Now I have to go because there’s a new episode of Trading Spaces: Boys vs. Girls starting any second now.

Fun Fact: Tanya says that she’ll stop buying Cosmo when I stop buying cigarettes. I think she has a real addiction.

Friday, March 05, 2004

That is a direct quote from my 2nd grade report card. The ellipses are where I cut out the “talks too much” part.

First let me take a moment to point out the obvious; the new TAM cartoon is up and running! Yeah for you!

Next, I seem to start a lot of these posts by talking about what I was going to talk about. Why should today be any different?

I was going to write about the ABC story last night on “plural marriages.” But now…I’m not.

I will say, however, that Mr. “bigamist anonymous successful business man” from the show was a complete ass.

On a friendlier note:

I took a walk this morning, like I do every morning, But today I brought along the digital camera that Tanya and I recently inherited from her parents (if her parents ask you, we are still looking for a repair shop for that camera…got it?).

Now, most of the people who are walking around the neighborhood, with no particular destination, at that time of the morning, are…a little…older than me. Sure, I’ve always liked to think that I was ahead of my time, but I never thought that I was 50 years ahead of my time!

Here’s my big news from the walk. I made a friend! Well, an L.A. friend (that means that we exchanged pleasantries).

Here he is: (I’ve protected his identity)

The Old Guy: (very chipper) Hey, how are you this mornin’?

TAM: I’m doing very well, thank you. And you?

TOG: Can’t complain, can’t complain.

Really? If I were permanently hunched over, had to use a cane to walk, and had that nasty looking gauzy medical eye patch, there would be no living with me. Then again, I’m a big ol’ puss.

You sir, are an inspiration.

His little dogs were friendly too. One black and one white. I don’t know their names but I would like to think that they’re “Yin” and “Yang.”

Fun Fact: If you took every person on the planet and had them stand in one huge line that wrapped around the world, a lot of them would drown. And then wouldn’t you feel bad.

Thursday, March 04, 2004

Not really true, is it? I mean, how can a noun be a verb? Unless you’re talking about words like the word “jump.” You can jump and you can have a jump (to jump off of). But then they aren’t fully equated to each other, are they? Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that “furriers are murderers” or “fur is the byproduct of a murder…”

This isn’t really the point of this post, so let me move on or I will be stuck on this all day.

This blog hasn’t been around for very long so it was a big thing for me when it first appeared on Google. I searched for “Anthropomorphic Male,” (without the quotes) and there I was, at the top of the page! The first link! This would for sure bring plenty of traffic to my little site here! However, as I scrolled down the rest of the list, I soon found that I was in…well, I’ll just say…dubious company.

Now, don’t be alarmed, but it seems that the rumors are true, there is indeed porn…on the internet!

And I have found myself in a category that I had not quite anticipated. Evidently the term “Anthropomorphic” has some more…ribald…connotations than I was aware of. I figured that I was being clever. I never thought that anyone in the internet porn conspiracy would even know that word. Let’s face it, internet porn Barons aren’t all exactly as savvy as Hugh Hefner. So now I find myself getting hits from interesting Google searches.

I suppose it’s partly my fault. If I wasn’t such an elitist in thinking that there are too many stupid people on the net (none of you included) and if I hadn’t written about same-sex marriages - I wouldn’t be in this situation.

I’m not going to go into detail about exactly what it is that I’m talking about because, although I’m already listed first on Google in this catagory, I don’t want to fuel that fire.

But now I feel like I have to write a disclaimer:

Welcome to all of you who have landed on this site looking for an interesting anthropomorphic carnal experience,

This isn’t what you expected, was it? No one is dressed in fuzzy costumes and the cartoon isn’t probably what you were searching for either. I apologize. If you would just hit the “back” button on your browser, you will be taken to a fantastic listing of sites that offer just what you were longing for.

But, please, feel free to stay and look around if you’d like. I’m not too judgmental. If you feel urges to get it on with foxy chicks or dudes that, coincidentally, just happen to look strangely like actual foxes, then I say go for it. Whatever makes your coat thick and shiny, I say.

Thanks again for visiting. And, again, I’m sorry that I couldn’t be of more…assistance.

TAM

For the rest of my friends who are faithful readers and had no idea that this site had any connection (unintentional as it is) to the seedy underbelly of the net - let’s just forget that I ever wrote this and never speak of it again.

P.S. If you search Google using quotation marks you’ll be spared a lot of porn. Unless, of course, that’s what you’re looking for.

Also, TAM the cartoon will be updated tomorrow! I’ve decide to make it “buy-weekly.” (spelled wrong on purpose to avoid getting Google hits from “curious” men looking for an online Zine).

Fun Fact: They say that locker rooms smell like body odor, but I secretly suspect that it’s the other way around.

Wednesday, March 03, 2004

Another “Super Tuesday” has come and gone here in fabulous Los Angeles and I didn’t get a single Super Tuesday present! Where were the Tuesday lights and the Tuesday trees?! What happened to the Tuesday Nog or the Tuesday Cakes?

All in all, it wasn’t the holiday I remember from my childhood.

Perhaps I’m thinking of something else.

I was going to write a nice essay about the state of the election but then I realized that I have no idea what’s going on in this state. However, there was one thing that made me stop and think though.

Proposition 55, a bond of $12.3 billion to improve the state schools, seems to have lost. But we (the California voters) did approve a 15 billion dollar deficit bond to help us bail out of the extreme debt that we now find ourselves in.

Here’s where I’m a bit puzzled: What happens when schools need repairs? Are we going to incorporate it into the curriculum? Will there be classes like “spackling and painting” instead of shop? Or could school children find themselves taking a class titled, “Mixing and Pouring Concrete: Strong foundations mean stronger futures?”

Don’t get me wrong, the idea of watching 10 year olds applying stucco, or grouting tile, does make me chuckle. I think it’s funny. Mostly because I hate kids.

Wait…wait, don’t judge me yet. Of course I don’t hate individual children. It’s children in general as an ever present ravaging plague on society that I hate.

So why am I worried about the quality of their schools? That’s a good question. If it were up to me, I wouldn’t care if some plaster fell on their empty heads as they slept through algebra, it might knock some manners into them. But, unfortunately, society as a whole doesn’t feel the same as I do.

(Or do they? After all, they didn’t give those snot-noses any money)

Someday though, some plaster, or a brick, or a gymnasium (sorry, I’m daydreaming) will fall on someone’s head. Or maybe a parent will actually visit their children’s school and see the state of things. And then what will happen? Well, I’ll tell you. Holy Hell will be raised, that’s what. Foul-weather advocacy groups and the PTA will cry for improved schools (not that it isn’t what their doing now). And since there is direct risk to our precious kiddies, the government will be forced to deal with it. I mean, come on, the schools aren’t going to just heal themselves now are they? But that would be real cool. And kind of creepy.

”But how?” You ask, “how will they get the funds since the bond didn’t pass?”

Man, do you ask all the right questions.

The government will fix the problem with money from the state’s budget which will then have to be paid back with help from the $15 billion deficit bond.

And they’ll do it too because Governor Schwarzenegger is all about the chilluns, isn’t he. That’s what he said in his campaign and I’m sure that he still means it.

People always bitch about politicians and their sneaky handling of the state money and yet they won’t vote for a bond that can only be used for one thing (unless I’m missing the fine print) and instead vote for handing money to those same politicians and saying, “here, you know what to do with this more than I do.”

It’s enough to make me want to sing the opening song from The Lion King.

If I actually worked and paid taxes, it would really bug me a little.

Fun Fact: If you whip dishwashing soap with a whisk it will start to look like whipped cream but, believe me, that’s where the similarities end.

It’s official, I’ve, again, wasted far too much of my time on a reality show.

Those of you who watched Average Joe Hawaii last night know exactly what I’m talking about.

For those of you who didn’t (smartly) watch last night, here’s a recap.

Larissa didn’t pick Brian the Bostonian and instead opted for Fort Lauderdale Gill. But there was a twist. Larissa later got dumped in Cabo.

Okay, this ending bugged me on many different levels. Not that I didn’t see it coming. I knew that she would pick the vacuous Gill, but not because he’s oh-so-dreamy. And we all knew that Larissa and Gill would break up (but it was cool to actually see it on the show).

Here’s what bugged me the most. That show was too damned honest!

Honest, if you know how to speak “reality show.” And, I think, that’s something that we’re all getting pretty good at.

For one, the show was formatted exactly like the last show, which left little doubt as to the outcome. They showed the “hunky” guy’s hometown visit first. The visit goes horribly (at least it appeared to, I’m sure they cut out all of the animal sex). Then they show the “Joe’s” visit and it goes really well. And since we know that these shows thrive on making us feel for the loser, Bean Town Brian had no chance (at least he got to be the envy of his friends for a moment, although, I’m sure that’s little consolation to him now as he is shamed and pitied).

For those of you who don’t speak “reality show,” let me translate a few things for you.

Larissa: (To Brian as she rejects him) You need someone who will say, “I love you too.”

Translation:I know that I said that I was looking for someone but you actually have emotions, and emotions are baggage. I just wanted to be on T.V.

Gill: (Just before Larissa is going to choose) I really hope she picks me.

Translation:They are going to interview the winner on Good Morning America and any number of daytime talk type shows and I really just wanted to be on T.V. as much as possible

Brian: (Somewhere in Boston) I think that I’m falling in love

Translation:I’m a moron and I think that I’m falling in love

Sure, this is all pretty pedestrian. It’s what we’ve come to expect. But, Gill admitting that he did the show in order to jump start an acting career is just not right!

That’s for us to infer, damnit! We all know it! That’s why we always hate you afterwards. We don’t like to have our emotions played for a publicity stunt. (We always let it happen and then wake up the next morning with a bad taste in our mouths - that’s just the way of the reality television world.) But, noooo, you had to go and fess up to it. You weren’t playing by the rules, Gill!

Gill’s candor did have some malicious advantages though. It made Larissa look even more vapid for picking him. Touché, Gill. Touché. And then when Gill tapped out like a ten year old at the Ultimate Fighting Championships once he learned that Larissa had dated Fabio, and then left her crying on a couch in Mexico about how “Brian must have felt,” well, that was a master stroke!

Vous êtes le maître, Gill. But Fabio?! Please don’t tell me that you actually punked out like a bitch because of Fabio?! And if I ever see that you’ve actually been cast in something (as someone other than yourself), I will lose what little faith I have left in the Hollywood dream. Gill, take a page from Fabio’s book. Don’t try to act too much. And, if you chose to, do it poorly.

In conclusion: I don’t know why I watch these stupid shows. I guess that it fulfills some need to hate?

And here’s some advice to future “looking for love” reality show contestants. Don’t look like you actually want anything other than a two-picture deal to come of your appearance. You’ll never get picked if you genuinely care. People just want to be on T.V.

Fun Fact: Girl Scout cookies are actually baked by the Devil in a hollow tree in Hell for the sole purpose that I may become a fat-ass. Damn you Satan and your mediocre confections!

Monday, March 01, 2004

So the Oscars were last night. Bet you didn’t know that did you? They were. Now, let me be the first person on the entire internet to give you a little re-cap.

There was nothing earth-shattering about the Oscars this year. The opening was good, Billy Crystal was good, overall, I thought that they were pretty…well…good. Most everybody won that I thought should (except for Bill Murray, and, to be honest, if it weren’t for the awesome LOTR trilogy, Lost in Translation should have grabbed Best Picture).

But the Oscars themselves weren’t the focus of my evening. Not even what people wore! Can you believe that?! Fashionistas everywhere are limply clapping their hands to their waxed chests and stammering, “oh…my…GAWD!”

I attended an Oscar party last night. Well, an Oscar/Wrap party for the short film that I just finished working on. It’s one thing to want to be a Hollywood big-shot, but when you’re crammed in a room full of people who want the same thing, it can be a little daunting. Daunting for me anyway because most everyone who was there actually gets some work. I spent most of the night trying not to look like a desperate Hollywood charity case.

Which, by the way, I’m not. I don’t need no charity! I just need everyone to love me and want me to work with them. Is that so wrong?

The one good thing about “industry” parties is that you will be visited at least once by everyone in attendance. That’s only if you look like you don’t care. If you look like you don’t care then people will assume that you don’t have to and that means that you’re doing just fine, baby. And the “doing just fine, baby” attitude is a signal to others that you may be able to get them some work…and maybe it’ll actually pay!

Don’t get me wrong, these were all very nice people. No one was an ego-maniac or anything. There were no “airs” being put on. Just a bunch of people politely milling around looking like they don’t care.

Every once in a while though, someone would pipe up and say something like “oh my God, that’s the film that so-and-so worked on! Oh my God, I’m sooooo happy for him/her!” This, of course, is another way to suggest, “I may not be doing just fine just yet, baby, but I know someone who is, which makes me next in line for doing just fine, baby.”

This is what, in Poker, is called a “tell” (and what I just wrote, in writing, is called a “cliché”). This person, desperate for attention, just showed their cards. Why you ask? Well, the “I know someone…” game is a pretty common industry game. You needn’t to go to parties to play it either. People will just do that on the street. This means that it has no place indoors. You wouldn’t change your oil in your living room, would you?

“Sour grapes!” Says you.

“You’re right!” Says I.

Sure, I want to be successful. Sure, I want to be able to go to these parties and say ”I know someone…!” Sure, I want to be envied (hey it’s their sin, not mine).

But I really do play off the “I don’t care” thing really well. And, it’s sorta’ fun to be the slacker/actor/writer/director. The confidence + the slackerness = funny confusion.

Here’s a typical scene:

ACTOR AT PARTY: Hey, man, you got any projects going?

TAM: No.

ACTOR: You aren’t doing anything?

TAM: Nope.

ACTOR: …Hey, man, who’s your agent?

TAM: I don’t have an agent.

ACTOR: Are you still looking for one?

TAM: Not really. Who has the time?

ACTOR: How do you get auditions?

TAM: I don’t.

ACTOR: …oh.

Now, I’ve essentially told this person that I’m nobody and I haven’t done a damned thing to further my career, but they always seem to think that my approach is somehow calculated and then ask me for advice.

Of course, actors would ask their pets for acting advice so that’s not saying much. We are a fragile bunch.

So, to wrap up: The Oscars were okay and I’m a catty bitch at parties.

Fun Fact: My rent is overpriced and yet it’s cheaper than anything else on the block. (Fire your slings and arrows about me not paying the rent etc…)